


ease on down

by Lizzen



Category: Emerald City (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, Gender Dysphoria, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 08:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: This isn’t me, he thinks. And it aches.Set around “Everyone Lies”





	

_This isn’t me_ , he thinks. And it aches.

*  
In the quiet before sleep, his hands slip down out of habit, out of desire, and fingers fumble with folds and with flesh. It’s a mess of nonsense and yet he’s still wet and raw inside. The familiar need needles him like a canker. He bites down on his cheek and thinks of lips around his dick, thinks of that sweet little sucking noise Jack would always make, and fiddles wildly with a strange new part of him. There’s no relief, though; no comfort. 

Just soaked underwear and a cramp in his hand and a wretched longing. 

*  
“What do you miss the most about being a boy?” his Mistress asks. And he knows she knows what he will say.

So he lies. “Better wages.”

She smirks and reaches with stained fingers at his crotch, gripping at what isn’t there. “Mmm,” she says. “I bet it was lovely, my pretty.”

He finds it easy to smirk right back.

*  
It’s hard to handle the drug and not feel the effects. Tip doesn’t dare sip the Mistress’ tea or bring wet fingers to his lips, but his nose is full of it; the sweet and succulent smell of poppies. _I can take your pain away_ , it sings to him, _I can make you forget, like you never even existed_ , it sings. 

It’s not like he isn’t tempted.

*  
Only once - only once, Tip takes a John to a hallway and gets to his knees. Opens his mouth, and doesn’t mind the rough hand tangled in his loose hair. 

He’s used to Jack’s length and girth, but Tip’s learning to adapt these days. The act isn’t complicated, and Tip knows very well how it all goes, so the John is very quickly breathing raggedly with his head hard against the wall. Tip teases and sucks and lengthens the process, makes it good, good, better than it should be; he knows how, and he knows how it feels. A bitterness grows in his belly, tasting the salt and sour, and he swallows it down out of habit. He runs his nose along the length of the man’s dick and hums; and the phantom of something no longer in existence aches. 

“You’re an angel,” the John says, “Can I kiss you, sweet?”

Tip wipes his mouth and looks up. “Last time a man kissed me, I killed him.” 

*  
The Mistress, the Vessel of Truth, finds out, of course, of course. 

“One hears such things about your mouth,” she purrs, sleepy from the poppy but with enough edge for Tip to be on his guard. “Shall I put you on rotation, my beauty?”

“No,” he says. “No, I’m yours, Mistress.”

She smiles, and reaches for his hands. Tip doesn’t hesitate, and finds his fingers pressed gently against his Mistress’ lips, feels sweet little kisses. “Yes. You are mine.” 

*  
He tries again, desperate for relief, and the raw wound between his legs continue to confound him. Comfort he finds in memory, and in the smell of her on his fingertips. 

*  
Bluebird is one of Mistress’ favorites; not the most beautiful girl in the house but one of the best at her work and almost exclusive to female clients. So when she shows up at Tip’s door, Tip automatically pushes his legs together tight. Angrily banishes the thought of her lips around his dick.

“She sent me to teach you, pretty one,” she says. “The things all girls should know,” and her smile lights up the whole room. Tip puts his hands on his knees, and there’s something that trembles in the depths of his belly. 

“Is it very difficult? I find it difficult,” he says, ashamed of the girlish whisper that just flew out of his mouth.

“To unlock a woman’s mysteries, you have to be patient,” she says, “But the reward is worth the effort.”

Tip jaw clenches but his grip on his knees lessens. 

*  
When he comes, the earth itself seems to shatter and break apart. No longer a firework, but a deep rumble that blossoms into something unknowable, indescribable. Unhappiness creeps in behind bliss; a sort of jealousy trying to topple the delicious relief of a woman’s completion. All is overwhelming.

“Breathe,” Bluebird says. “Because we’re going to do it all over again.” And that’s when the tears bubble out of him. 

*  
“TEA,” his Mistress shouts and he readies it for her pleasure. He’s not sure how poppy mixes with honey, but he sweetens the tea a little with it. 

She holds up her hand when he arrives, silencing words he wasn’t going to voice, and she takes the cup greedily, drinking the too-hot liquid down too quickly. Her lips smack together as she finishes. “You’re needed, come here,” she says, gripping his shoulder and pulling him into bed with her. 

Tip sits as straight as he can as his Mistress arranges herself on pillows and blankets and then lies her head on Tip’s lap. She raises a hand and looks intently at him. 

His small hands take hers, and he pushes his thumb against her palm, hard and then soft. His Mistress sighs very prettily and closes her eyes. “Like that.”

He obeys, of course, out of duty and out of --

The feeling akin to desire coils in his belly and there’s the slight clench of his toes against leather. There is the intimacy without being intimate and the cognitive dissonance of his new flesh; he is frozen except for his ministrations on her stained hand. Everything feels wrong, feels alien to him. Shame spirals him into a black abyss. 

“I’m nothing,” he thinks. “I should be nothing.”

In an instant he feels a searing pressure in his hand and looks down. Her eyes are open and she’s gripping his hand tight, so tight. “I need you to breathe, Tip, I need you to breathe in and then out, and concentrate on your breathing.”

He flinches but does it, closes his eyes and listens to the sound of air passing in and out of his lungs. And he thinks: these are the same lungs as before, it’s the same act as before. Breathing hasn’t changed for him. _In, and out, and in, and out._ And his heartbeat slows.

She loosens her grip, slightly. “I don’t know what it is yet, but you’re meant for something.” And then she smiles. And that’s when she kisses him, a gentle sort of kiss with only the briefest brush of her tongue against his lower lip. “And you’re meant for me.”

He shivers all over.

And she lays back, her head in his lap, and closes her eyes again. 

*  
He tastes honey on his lips for hours. 

*  
This time, he gets it right, finds pleasure in the dark in minutes and is too surprised by joy to smother his cry. His cheeks burn but he greedily reaches for himself again, this time considering a different fantasy; considering what it would be like to press _her_ against soft sheets and to listen to her sighs. 

His thoughts jumble, messy and vivid: jutting his hips as she holds his legs open like a vise and licks at his wetness until he’s trembling; pushing his dick into her slick heat gentle, gentle, before finding a rhythm that makes her hum with desire; gasping as she sucks kisses down his sensitive neck; watching her hold her hair back with one hand and brace herself with the other as she rides him hard; coming against her fingers as she fucks him without abandon; spilling into her and being surprised at the low grunt that rumbles out of him until his dick softens. 

When his hand moves to clutch at his breast, and then twist hard at his pebbling nipple, he sees white, hears nothing, feels everything.

And as he lies, sweaty and shivering, he lets relief take him, lets happiness surround him, lets bliss overwhelm him. 

*  
It’s almost enough to make him forget.

**Author's Note:**

> If I was to write a second part, it would start with something like:
> 
> _The heralds cry out: “OZMA, FIRST OF HER NAME, GLORIANA, OUR BLESSED QUEEN.”_
> 
> _There’s a sweet sort of whisper to silken skirts as he walks into the room, and he keeps his gaze steady on the throne._
> 
> _No, no, that’s not right._
> 
> _He keeps his gaze steady on_ her _. When she meets his eyes, something like fire eats away at him, looking into the brightness of her blazing smile. There’s a brief wobble in his ladylike step, and he listens carefully to the air rushing in and out of his lungs until he is calm and close enough to take her outreached hands._
> 
> _Endearments sit unspoken on his tongue, but he does allow himself to speak one word: “Mistress,” he calls her, and when she laughs, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen._


End file.
